


DON’T GO BREAKING MY HEART

by king_grizi, thosejuniperberries



Category: Football - Fandom, Men's Football RPF
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 21:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_grizi/pseuds/king_grizi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosejuniperberries/pseuds/thosejuniperberries
Summary: Being a WAG was easily the dream of numerous women, and it was thought that the hardest part was how you were going to make yourself one, but the truth is, it gets harder, way harder.





	DON’T GO BREAKING MY HEART

**Author's Note:**

> King-grizi & Footballgotmeoncrack Tumblr Collab fic. All characters don't belong to us. Enjoy!

Being a WAG was easily the dream of numerous women, and it was thought that the hardest part was how you were going to make yourself one, but the truth is, it gets harder, way harder. It wasn’t that your man wouldn't be waiting for you at home everyday with a rose between his teeth, it was about how often he would be away. Your man would probably show up at home a few times a month, but even if he was free from trainings and matches, the two of you probably wouldn’t be able to do anything fun; since it’s either that his legs needed some extra TLC or your schedule just wouldn’t allow it.

It wasn’t that your husband, Hugo didn’t love you, you knew how much he loved you, but as a wife, you couldn’t help feeling a bit sad that you would be spending another weekend with the bachelorette as your only company. Sigh, to think you had been so excited about being able to finally spend some quality time with Hugo. Well, you could still prepare a for a romantic dinner for one though, okay not really, your romantic dinner was just going to be a bag of chips and a bottle of red wine. “That’s what you get for never having learnt how to cook” you told yourself. But at least you ended work early, starting to head home at 3 in the afternoon. If Hugo was home, he would NEVER even allow you to even look at “abominations filled with chemicals and grease”. “They may be potato chips but I bet there isn’t even any potato in there,” you could almost see Hugo’s scrunched face, like those harmless little chips upset the all the rules of his french upbringing. The thought made you smile, feeling slightly less alone. You stopped by your local grocery store to pick up your ‘dinner’. But while you were paying for your favorite bottle of wine, you thought you saw Hugo in a nearby aisle. He wore a black hoodie, covering enough of his face so that people wouldn’t be able to tell who he was but he couldn’t be more visible to you. Your husband crouched down to look at a few bottles of sauce, eventually sighing, a bit disappointed, not finding what he was searching for. 

Wait a minute, Hugo? Hadn’t he told you that he had to fly to Clairefontaine for an urgent meeting? You even saw him pulling his bag out of the closet to pack a few items of clothing last night. What was he doing here?

Oh shit, he started to move towards the meat section. You turned away, almost knocking over the EXPENSIVE bottle you had just bought, still trying to act natural. The teenage cashier gave you a weird look before mumbling a quick “No refunds” for good measure as he handed you the receipt. Well, that was a close “adios to my paycheck” moment. But right now, the only thing on your mind was “Thank goodness Hugo didn’t notice you”, and you gripped your bottle tightly, not really caring about chips and left. You got in your car, still wondering why he wasn’t in France. 

You picked up your phone to dial your partner-in-crime, your most reliable source, the only one that would indulge your slightly paranoid tendencies - And so he got points for being, in your book, much more honest than his teammates.

Exhibit A : you had been waiting at his hotel in moscow for the last hour and the receptionist wouldn’t let you in, even if you showed her your ID. Your patience could only last so long, so you facetimed your best friend -Antoine- “Where is everyone? Hugo. Is. Not. Picking up his phone.” You huffed exasperatedly.

“Y/N, stop worrying about him, just admit that you are only calling because of moi.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You sighed, already extremely irritated by the combo of the long ass flight you just got off, with a side of this ridiculously stubborn receptionist. Add to that, the fact that your husband was not answering any of your calls, Antoine being Antoine was really the cherry on top of this developing migraine. “Do you need me to get erika on now?” you send glares to Antoine. 

Antoine flashed a wide grin at you “Too bad, she’s next to me right now!” he screamed over some sort of loud music. You gave him a dead panned expression, He seriously thought he could one up you. The screen went black and you heard a quick shuffling sound, “Give it to me!!!!” Yup, that’s Erika, saving the day as usual.

“NEVER” Antoine screamed, reminding you that he could never be any older than 5.

His wife scowled. “GIVE IT TO ME NOW”

There was a pause which was followed by the sound of Erika swatting Antoine’s hand away. It was one of those images that you had had the pleasure of observing way too many times, to the point where you would just know when that would happen. “They are on the bus now, don’t worry. We are 2 minutes from there!” 

This time however, something was definitely up because Antoine confirmed that there was no urgent meeting. He’d even been quite confused, when you asked him about it. Hugo wasn’t the type to beat around the bush when it came to his schedule, and he had nothing to hide about! So why was he here when he told you he had to be in France? You paused for a moment, ‘hiding his face at the neighbouring grocery, being free at 3 in the afternoon without telling you, lying about being in a different FRICKING country ... OH MY GOD HE IS CHEATING ON ME.’ Irrationality be damned. You were absolutely convinced. This was actually happening.

“Bitch!” You exclaimed, slamming your hand onto the steering wheel. Accidentally pressing the horn and making a few pedestrians jump. They glared at you, gesturing wildly and you scowled back, today was not the kind of day you could deal grumpy Londoners, you took a quick look back into the store where Hugo was still lining up waiting for his turn at the check out and jammed the accelerator to your old ratchet car, cursing your husband along the way. You were going to catch him in the act. You were gonna cut him off and reach home first. How could he do such thing to you? 

You parked your car somewhere he wouldn’t notice, behind Mrs. Watson’s house, Hugo was really afraid of that woman, because once he accidentally kicked a ball into her yard, ruining her most precious hydrangea bush. Afterwards, any time he passed by, she seemed to always have a baguette in hand to hit him with so you knew that he wouldn’t wander around there for longer than 2 minutes. You, then angrily stumbled into your house. When you entered through the gates, you almost vomited from the sickly sweet sight. Right there, on YOUR pavement, were rose petals were leading all the way into the foyer.

You knew Hugo could be very romantic, but he’d never did anything like this before. You felt a pang of sadness, overlaying your anger, but treading carefully so as not to mess up the rose path he made for his part time lover. Part time lover. You scoffed. Those words stung, much more than you could ever admit. 

And when you passed your dinning room, about to follow the flower petals up the stairs, you saw a red dress hanging on a chair. Your mouth hung open, but you came closer to examine the unfamiliar dress, it was very pretty, something Hugo would love to see you wear. With an off-the-shoulder top, a very subtle slit just up to the thigh, and having just enough fabric to drape over the feet, even with heels, it was perfect, almost too perfect. You held the dress in your hands, thinking about burning it immediately, you caught yourself, “I will burn it later,” preferably along with his clothes when you caught them later on.

You headed straight into your bedroom and noticed it immediately that the pile of clothes that you threw on the ground this morning, along with the scarfs that you had wrapped around the foot of the bed were all gone, the room was squeaky clean. 

Sure Hugo was a tidy person but he would never, NEVER, clean your mess for you because you’d dig through the entire house finding that one shirt, only to choose another to wear that day. You sighed, looking into the bathroom, where a small pink duffle bag lay, you bit back a scream when you saw the initials HK on it. Who.Is.HK? Holly Kennedy..., Hailey Knott..., Helena...Khalifa you mumbled to yourself random girl names with random last names, while rolling your eyes. You looked into it, blood started to rush to your cheeks, it wasn’t a blush it was pure rage. There was a freaking lingerie set in there. You dropped it to the ground and a pair of heels came out. It was a pair of black velvet Louboutin. The pair that had you drooling over for the last month. 

You weren’t going to let him get away with any of this. So when you heard the gate open, you quickly shoved the heels back into the pink bag and hid in your small storage room right across the hall from your bedroom. You waited for 15 minutes surrounded by darkness, and then you heard footsteps, but they didn’t come up the stairs. You opened the camera monitor app in your phone that ironically enough, Hugo, installed on your phone but you soon realized the cameras were all deactivated. 

“YOU SON OF A B-“ You spat out, but stopped when you remembered that you had to be quiet if you still wanted to catch him. You covered your mouth, oh hold on, the one in the hallway still hadn’t been completely shut off, you could still hear through it.

You heard some bags being put on a surface, probably the counter, and then the sound of pans being selected. IS HE GOING TO COOK THAT BITCH DINNER??? You were ready to storm down, to let it all out on him but then you heard: “Bonsoir, mon amour” You furrowed your eyebrows, listening carefully. “Tu es parfait, mon ange ” Your hands began to shake. That pet name was reserved only for you, no one else, or that was what you thought, apparently. “Ever since-“ he continued and you couldn’t stand this anymore, you turned off your phone and threw it in the corner of the room. Your phone landed in a box and spilled out. You came over to see, and there was a picture of you and Hugo. It was one of the photos that was first taken when you two got together. You had your arms wrapped around his waist, grinning widely. And Hugo with his around your shoulder. The two of you both were laughing at something. The sad feeling crept in again, accompanied by you the feeling of disappointment, and loneliness. You stood up. And that was when the song “For me, formidable” by Charles Aznavour was, played. It was in your wedding playlist and that song always always made you smile but not this time, not ever especially after this.

You grabbed your phone to go down the stairs, because by God’s name you were going to make this right. You didn’t care that you’d possibly be meeting his *urk, lover* while wearing your mess of an outfit that still had remnants of coffee stains from that shitty brew you had this morning. But you were about to storm into the kitchen and throw your phone at your unfaithful husband, but he was mumbling something about “...and then I say something of this anniversary I want it to-” “No, no, more like I just wanted this anniversary to be special, women love that” the reply came in a particularly jumbled english accent. 

HE DARE FLIRT IN MY KITCHEN? You hurried down the stairs, and burst into the kitchen.

The first thing you noticed was that Hugo was still swaying gently to the song. And seeing him like this almost softened your resolve, as he began to sing the lyrics in his adorable accent that you loved, “Je suis malheureux, d'avoir si peu de mots à t'offrir en cadeau…” (I'm unhappy, to have so few words to offer you as a gift)

“You’d better have enough words for this” The words seemed to slip out on their own, you almost, just almost, regretted saying them.

But as Hugo whipped his head up in shock and surprise, you received a shock of your own. He was wearing the pink apron scattered with hearts-your Christmas gift to him last year. He automatically raised his hands, along with the spatula in the air, like he had just been caught by the police. “What?”

You took a minute to absorb the whole scene, Hugo had three pots going, and a cake baking in the oven. The table was already set, a candelabra in the middle and roses strategically scattered around. And well there next to Hugo was Harry Kane, in a matching apron, your apron, chopping up some leeks.

““I KNOW THAT YOU’RE CHEATING ON ME. You… you’re cheating on me with...wh-what’s going on here? Kane, are you in on this too? Or is this for ...” you eyed Harry suspiciously, who looked absolutely mortified.

Kane stared at your shirt. “Um-you’ve got a little, uh..” in his usual gargled speech.

“What? ” you snapped, amidst all of whatever this mess was supposed to be, one thing was for sure: you did not have time for another idiot right now. “It’s coffee.”

 

“Ah” Harry nodded to himself. You sighed. You decided to ignore Harry for a moment and redirected your rage back to Hugo.

Hugo followed your line of vision, also dropping the spatula in his hand. He shook his head furiously, “Non-non, What makes you think that?” 

“You said you were going to be in France today, and yet here you are. I saw a red dress hung on that chair, upstairs there is a pink duffle bag up there with a set of lingerie and a pair of Louboutins that also wasn’t mine.” 

He composed himself as he heard you out. “I know.” Smiling that pure, innocent smile of his, that was anything but that right now. While Harry picked up Hugo’s spatula from the ground and cleaning up after his teammate. 

“WHY ARE YOU SMILING???” You asked, your hands pulling on your hair. He made you so confused. Why was he keeping quiet? He wasn’t even trying to deny it. And how did Harry fit into all of this? 

Harry seemed to finally get the signal that this was probably a bad time and tried to back away slowly from the domestic dispute. “Harry, sit down.” “Yes ma’am, uh I meant Mrs. Lloris,- Y/N”

You narrowed your brows at Hugo, using that special staring tactic - that seemed to work on some of his teammates whenever you needed some info about Hugo during international break. 

He just smiled, that glint of mischief in his eye, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. You got momentarily distracted by the white button-up with sleeves folded up to his elbows that really showed off his biceps. He definitely knew something that you didn’t. 

“Happy 5-year anniversary, mon ange!”

Wait, OH! You totally forgot about that! You took a look at the calendar hung on the wall behind you, IT WAS YOUR ANNIVERSARY. “That doesn’t change the fact that you have been sleeping around with another woman!” you reasoned, crossing your arm in defense. “It just makes this worse” 

He stayed where he was, still calm and collected. “ I know how you love the colour red.”

You tilted your head. “I’m sure Harry knows that as well.” you said, sarcasm dripping from your tone. 

“Oh- actually I didn’t...” He stopped himself from a your glare that said ‘this isn’t the time’.

“Does Harry know that you love to cross your legs? So only this dress that can comfortably allow that?” He gestured to the red dress that you picked up angrily earlier, now draped neatly on the same chair. 

“What does this have to do with me?” Harry mumbled in the background but you and Hugo were too busy to even notice. 

You gulped quietly. He was right. But you weren’t going to give up easily. “We’ve been together for five years, of course you’d know my habits” you tried to stick a few more thesis statements in there, saving your drowning ship

“Tell me, who else would know the exact pair of velvet Louboutin that has been on your secret amazon account for the past month?” he shifted his weight from one leg onto the other, gazing up at you with those precious brown eyes that made you melt.

“You mean the Louboutin in a pink VS bag with someone else’ initials on them ?”

“Ah that may or may not be borrowed” Harry interjected.

You eyed Harry incredulously, oh “Wait, HK, Harry…?”

“How did you know about my wish list-” He shrugged innocently, a smirk of pride spreading across his face.

You threw your arms around your husband, who chuckled. “So that red dress, and the heels, the flowers, all of this were for me?” 

He wrapped his strong arms around you, and you breathed in the aroma of tomato sauce infused with the scent of his favorite cologne, which you didn’t really mind. “Oui! How could you think that I would ever cheat on you?” He said, pressing his lips to your hair. 

You snuggled closer to his chest before looking up at him, “and you were practicing your speech?”

“Yes, how did you know?” He smiled in surprise, making those endearing eye crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. “ I have my ways”, that makes Hugo let out a small laugh, and you felt his chest vibrating softly against you. 

“Don’t forget about the lingerie, babe” he gave you a small kiss on your forehead, winking cheekily.

“Well I’m glad that’s all sorted, can I keep at the leeks now?” You both looked at Harry, who would not allow you two to forget that he was still sitting in your kitchen, and in your apron.

You were about to respond, when a burnt smell filled your nose. “Hugo, the cake!“


End file.
